


Sailing with the Dead

by Talc



Series: Modern Thedas AU [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, F/F, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Minor Character Death, Morticians, dead bodies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-18 07:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10611909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talc/pseuds/Talc
Summary: Merrill left her clan to take a job as a mortician, but she's finding doubt in her ability to take care of herself. Thankfully, she found a bar where she meets the nicest people.





	1. Mint and Basil

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my Modern Thedas series. It takes place before Counting With the Dead, focusing around Merrill and how she got to where she is. It's really a way of showing where the DAII crew is in this universe, and fleshing out a bit more about the funeral parlor. Plus I just really wanted to explore Merrill's relationships with others.

There’s no shelf near the single window of her shabby apartment, or even a sill for which she can place her plant on, so she drags a pile of boxes over to the window and lines them up so there’s room for the sun on top. They’re empty now, since she finished unpacking, so she can tape the boxes together and put the ceramic pot on top of the make-shift shelf, stepping back so she can look at how the light falls on its leaves.

It’s mint, mentha suaveolens, something she’d heard shems call apple mint. A gift from Mahariel a long time ago, back when both still lived with the clan, back when Mahariel hadn’t disappeared. Merrill had kept the plant all these years, kept it watered and learned an awful lot to keep it healthy. It helped her not miss her friend so much, but did nothing for the guilt.

Her little apartment seems so empty. All she has is a cot and a pile of boxes next to her little kitchen area, and the bathroom. It’s dark, and dingy, and she thinks there’s a hole in the wall but she can’t really tell. It’s not her…

She pulls a box out of another box and flicks through it to find a paintbrush and a set of paints. Sitting cross legged on the floor, she paints her stack of boxes, swirling vines with flowers and rainbows and halla. She uses a lot of paint, but afterwards she feels a lot better.

Merrill has no food. She’d forgotten about that part. She gathers what she needs and leave to go to the supermarket. She learns her first new big lesson as she walks down the city street; shemlens are weird. They wear shoes everywhere they go, and stare at her with cross faces, like she did something bad. One of them calls her ‘rabbit’, which she thinks is quite sweet. She likes rabbits, they’re cute, and if you can catch one, they’re tasty. She smiles at the shem who calls her this and he glares.

Must be having a bad day.

The supermarket is odd. She’s been to a market before, but not one inside a building, and not one quite so large. She wanders down the aisles and tries to find food, but there’s lots of things to choose from, and she doesn’t know what people living on their own are supposed to buy. If she were still in the clan, it’d be simple. She’d know what meats to get, and what vegetables, and fruits. She’d know all the grains and herbs for large suppers. But Merrill remembers there’s no reason to get certain meats if she doesn’t like them, and no reason to get the vegetables she used to get because she’s not cooking for the clan, just herself.

She buys a bag of apples and a loaf of bread and a bottle of mead. The shem at the register makes her show them her license when she tries to buy the mead, and seems unconvinced that she’s 23. Merrill buys a plate and some cutlery, and a mug, for she doesn’t have these things. She likes the mug, it has a nug on it. Nugs are cute.

She returns to her apartment, smiling at the people she passes. There’s a man outside the building wrapped in a blanket, slumped against the wall. He looks sad, so Merrill gives him one of her apples, and she sees a genuine smile for the first time in days. She missed that.

Her apartment is colder than how she left it. The sun has since set, and the light won’t turn on. Merrill lights candles and eats her bread and apples. She drinks the whole bottle of mead. It’s sour, and thin, and nothing like the honeyed blackberry mead she’d had in the past, but it warms her belly and coaxes the loneliness away. She goes to sleep with a blurry head, and the sounds of the city in her ears. She misses home.

-

She dresses in nice clothes. A blouse and a pair of dress pants. She wears a jacket because it’s cold. It’s long and has lots of buttons on it, and many pockets, which she likes. She wears her amulet because she feels like she needs it, especially today.

Merrill has never taken a bus before, but she has to take one today. If everything goes well, she’ll have to take it every day.  

The bus is crowded and unfriendly. Merrill tries to sit in the few open seats, but people glare and hiss at her, so she stands and clings to a metal pole. Geez, trains are easier than this. Merrill misses trains.

Still, she gets to her stop early. She walks down the street and timidly approaches her building. Slowly, she opens the door.

The building is quiet, dark, and empty.

“Hello?” Merrill calls out. Was she too early? She didn’t think she was too early… “Hello?”

“Keep your voice down.” A voice groans to her left. Merrill jumps and whirls to look inside the nearby office, where someone is sitting at a desk in the dark, head buried in their arms.

That day, Merrill learned her new boss was an alcoholic.

-

Mr. Dorian Pavus was a good boss, despite being hungover upon their first meeting. It’s fine, Merrill had been drinking the night before as well. Mead gives nasty hangovers, but she knew how to take care of them.

She had her boss some tea before he sat down and talked to her about her new job. Mr. Pavus had been very surprised to find out she was Dalish. This was easy to understand, Merrill was the only Dalish mortician she had ever met. The elves traditionally don’t really have embalming, so her interest in the subject was odd, to say the least.

“So, you apprenticed in Kirkwall?” Mr. Pavus asks, looking over her resume. She’d already gotten the job, but it seemed her boss wanted to ‘get to know her’ a little better.

“Yes, sir. My clan had been staying in the mountains nearby, and I was able to receive an education and find an apprenticeship.” Merrill explains.

“You can stop calling me sir. It makes me feel old.” Mr. Pavus says tiredly. “I went to Kirkwall once. Horrible place.” He wrinkles his nose.

“Oh yes, it’s very dirty and dark. But the people are nice. Much smaller than here, though. I’ve never seen so many people in one place, it’s very intimidating. Do people die more often in cities? Oh, that sounded insensitive. Death is just very interesting andI’mbabblingjustignorethatsorry.” Merrill grimaces inwardly. Oh, she wasn’t doing too good at this talking thing.

“Think nothing of it.” Pavus waves away her awkward comment. “Come, I will give you a tour of the building.”

By the end of the day, Merrill has found herself quite happy with her new job. She works until late in the night, refusing to leave until her boss does as well. The bus has stopped running by then, and Merrill walks herself home. Well, not home. Her apartment is not home yet. She doubts it ever will be.

She passes by a bar and thinks of her lacklustre mead. She’s never been to a bar before…

The Hanged Man is dark and filled with frowning people and laughing people and drunk people. The bar itself is mostly empty, though, so Merrill takes a seat there, swinging her legs and thinking, waiting.

“What’s your poison?” A gruff says close to her ear and she jumps, just a little.

“Poison? I don’t think I have a poison, I’m not an assassin. Is that a shemlen thing? Do shems have poisons? Should I get a poison?” She looks up at the bartender curiously.

“I meant, what do you want to drink?” The man is chuckling.

“Oh…Do you have any mead?” Merrill kicks herself for getting confused at the man’s words.

“’Fraid not.”

“Oh…Something sweet, then. Do you have that?” She looks up at the man with wide eyes.

He gives her a long look for a moment before nodding and walking away. Merrill continues to sit and swing her legs.

Merrill thinks about her time spent in Kirkwall. She’d hardly had any interactions with the shemlen even during her apprenticeship. Her schooling had started online on her small, old laptop while her clan was travelling around Thedas. Their stop in Sundermount was longer than expected and Merrill was able to finish up her hands-on studies and do her apprenticeship in the nearby town. She hadn’t gotten much interaction with shemlen, though. Mostly she worked in the back, helping with bodies, cleaning, and such.

The bartender returns with a bright red drink in a little glass. He puts it in front of her, but does not leave till she takes a sip and gives him a bright smile. She tries to ask him what she owes, but the man just says to leave some coin in the tip jar and walks away.

-

Merrill returns to the Hanged Man often after work, finding the atmosphere nice, and the bartender pleasant, and the drinks just alcoholic enough to ward off the gloom. Sure, the floor sticks to her shoes, and the air is thick with the scent of stale beer and vomit, but there’s something oddly familial and comforting about sitting at the bar.

Corff keeps trying to give her free drinks, so she starts bringing him dinner. In part, it’s a way to make herself eat, since she’s subject to forget, but also a way to help her new bartender friend, because he seems exhausted most of the time. She’s cooking larger meals again, but not large enough for a whole clan, just enough for herself and a few others. Sometimes she brings food for Dorian, on mornings when she knows he’ll have a hangover after storming out the night before to go who knows where. Sometimes she just lets him stew, because he gets rather cross when he’s in one of his moods.

Overall, things were going okay. And then they weren’t.

-

Today was not a good day at work, Merrill thought as she took her normal stool at the Hanged Man. It was her fault, she knew. She’d messed up, and now she didn’t even know if Mr. Pavus would want her to come back.

A woman had come in scheduled to talk about the funeral arrangements for her recently deceased son, and Dorian had been busy, so Merrill took the meeting, as is her job. The woman seemed very confused, though. She kept asking Merrill where the ‘real’ funeral director was, and when she’d be meeting with Mr. Pavus. Merrill tried to explain that Mr. Pavus was busy, and she, being his second in command, was supposed to take over his appointments. She assured the woman she was qualified to help the woman.

Yet, the woman just got angry. She started shouting about ‘knife ears’ and something about elves touching her sons dead body, and how ‘rabbits shouldn’t be allowed real jobs’, which Merrill finds confusing, since of course _rabbits_ don’t have jobs, they’re animals. What does that have to do with anything anyway?

The woman wasn’t even there to talk about her son’s embalming. The meeting was about coffins and funeral arrangements. Yet the woman shouted and complained until Dorian came into the office, scolding Merrill for not keeping the clients in control and ‘ _how can I work with all this racket_ ’ and very mean things like that, until Merrill was forced to take the rest of the day off, rushing out the door on shaky legs as she wipes furiously at her eyes.

She wonders if she’ll have a job tomorrow. She doesn’t think it’s likely.

She doesn’t know how she ends up at the Hanged Man, but she walks away from work and ends up there, eyes downcast and dull, a cloud over her head. It’s earlier than she’s used to, so much earlier that Corff isn’t even at the bar; some woman is in his place. But Merrill takes her normal seat and waits with her head in her hands, trying to think about anything other than her horrible day.

The bartender brings her out of her thoughts, though, with a loud cough. “What do you want to drink?”

She looks up quickly. Oh… “I don’t really know… Corff normally picks my drinks for me.”

“She’s that elf girl he was talking about, Norah.” A voice says from behind Merrill, and she whips around to see a slightly familiar dwarf. “Get her something sweet.” The man takes a seat next to Merrill at the bar, smiling at her and the bartender genially.

“Alright.” The woman walks off, uninterested.

“Rough day, Daisy?” The dwarf takes a seat next to Merrill and she stares at him for a moment trying to figure out why she recognises him.

“Oh, I think you have me confused with someone else. My name is Merrill, not Da-“

“It’s a nickname. ‘Cause you’re like a flower, you know? I’m Varric Tethras.” The dwarf holds out his hand to her and she slowly accepts it.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Tethras.” Nope, still doesn’t recognise him.

“Call me Varric. Hey, you come here an awful lot for someone who doesn’t know what vodka is.” Varric gestures to the waitress, Norah, as she sets a bottle down in front of Merrill, and is almost immediately handed a glass.

Merrill takes a sip from her bottle and gives it a weird look. Then she shrugs and takes a large gulp of it. Today was bad, and fuzzy head drinks are good. “I didn’t think anyone noticed me here.” She says, smiling at Varric.

“You kidding? You walk in here every other day all smiling and bright? Everyone notices you! A little bit too much if you ask me…” The last part is muttered to himself, but Merrill doesn’t really seem to notice. “Plus, I notice everyone who comes in here, considering I own it and all.”

Merrill shrugs. “I guess that makes sense.”

She looks down at the bottle and glances over the label, more just wanting something to look at than to find out just what she’s drinking.

“Why are you so down today?” Varric asks, taking a swig of his own drink.

Merrill’s lips turn slightly downward as she looks sideways at the dwarf. “Is it really that obvious?” She asks, voice softer than usual.

“It’s the contrast.” Varric smiles in a way that is oddly comforting to Merill. No one’s really been nice to her since she got here. Well, there was Corff, and the Dorian, but both were rather distant. “I doubt most would notice, though. Granted, your normal radiance of joy isn’t there today.”

“Oh…” Merrill looks back down at her bottle, eyes heavy, face drawn. She takes another drink. “I guess I am rather down today.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

Merrill thinks. She’s not very good at that; both with the thinking and the talking. She knows she gets words mixed up and she’s not too quick, but she thinks because she _does_ want to talk, but…No offense to Varric, but she doesn’t want to tell him. She wants Mahariel. She wants someone who understands all the pain and confusion, someone who feels like home without weighing on her.

Varric is nice, but he’s not her lost friend.

When she doesn’t respond, Varric settles into patient silence. They sit at the bar for the better part of a half hour, neither talking, but neither leaving.

“You know,” Varric starts, “I miss Kirkwall.”

Merrill raises and eyebrow, eyes widening as she looks at him.

He’s not looking at her, just smiling wistfully and examining the room. “That’s where the original Hanged Man is. I bought it some years ago, but I needed to moves cities and I wanted to bring it with me. It’s not the same, but it’s something.”

“I used to live in Kirkwall.” Merrill says, softly.

“Really?” The smile on Varric’s lips suggests he already knew this information.

“I was doing my apprenticeship.” She smiles a bit at the thought. “It was scary. I’d never been so close to shemlens before. Even just their dead bodies were new and fascinating…”

“That’s an odd comment if I ever heard one. What are you doing with corpses?”

“Oh.” Merrill blushes. “I forgot to…Oh, that’s so silly of me, I’m always forgetting these things. Ah, silly Merrill, that was daft of me.” She babbles, smiling awkwardly. “That must have sounded so weird, like I’m some murderer or some- I’m not! Of course, I’m not, but it sounded lik-“

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Daisy. Deep breaths.” Merrill hadn’t even realised her breath had picked up until she was looking at the placating hands of Varric, held up as if to sooth a frightened animal.

She flushes deeper, but slams her eyes closed and takes a few deep, forceful breaths. It takes a few minutes, but the harshness dissipates and she can breathe again, panic fading. “I’m so sorry.” She whispers, peeking an eye open to look at Varric. He doesn’t seem mad or anything, just looking at her patiently.

“It’s fine.” He smiles and she smiles back, albeit weakly.

“I’m um…I’m a mortician. You know like an undertaker or a funeral director? I don’t make dead bodies I just…” A few more deep breaths before she babbles again. “I just cut the up and fill them with chemicals and stuff.”

Varric stares at her in silence. For a moment she thinks he doesn’t like her answer, but then he chuckles. “That’s not the most typical occupation, I’ll give you that.” He laughs and she smiles.

“I know, it’s weird…”

“Oh, don’t say that. It’s necessary.” Something about the dwarf’s smile is so friendly, comforting in a way. “I’m not judgin’ you or anything. Though, you might want to work on your pitch, kid.”

A giggle bubbles up in Merrill’s throat. She covers her mouth to stop it, but only manages to hiccup. Both of them laugh.

“What really matters is if you like your job.”

Merrill’s face falls.

Varric loses his smile as well. “You okay, Daisy?”

“I um…I don’t know if I have a job anymore…” She says. Varric raises an eyebrow and orders her another drink. In the next few moments Merrill finds herself spilling out the events of the day, tears welling up in her eyes as she tries to verbally figure out what went wrong.

Varric listens patiently, offering her tissues as she hastily wipes at her blotchy, red face.

“Sorry, I just… I really want to be good at this job…” She sniffs. Varric hands her a glass, which she’s ready to refuse, she doesn’t need more alcohol, but it’s just ice water, which she drains in seconds.

“It’s not your fault, kid.” He comforts. With moments of silence, he changes the subject. It takes awhile, but the dwarf eventually takes her mind off of losing her job.

By the time Merrill is walking back home, she’s forgotten about all the harsh things that happened that day, found herself a new friend, and feels a little less homesick. She’d deal with her job in the morning. For now, she was ok.

-

The sun is barely up when Merrill rouses herself from her cot in the corner of her apartment. She shuffles around the room, opening the curtains to let the sun shine on her little mint plant. It seems happy on its makeshift table, leaves healthy and green.

Merrill brushes her hand over the plant, like on would pet a small animal, very careful and soft. Her eyes water at the thought of the day before. Normally she’d be getting ready for work right now, but…She questions if she even has a job anymore. Mr. Pavus hadn’t been very happy with her when he kicked her out yesterday. She knew she screwed up, somehow.

She wipes her eyes needlessly and sniffles. The plant’s bed is dry, so she picks up the bottle she’s left on the windowsill with the holes poked in the top and slowly water the plant. She feels immensely homesick at this moment, though not for her old home, not really. She doesn’t miss the clan. She was never really welcome there, a transfer from another Dalish clan that couldn’t keep her. When she left, no one had been particularly fond of her, but still…

She missed home the way it had been a few years ago, when Mahariel was still around and her clan was still nice to her. She misses the time they spent in the forest, before Kirkwall, before the mountains. She misses her friend.

With a sigh, she leaves to get dressed, pulling out her darkest clothes without thinking about it. She doesn’t eat before she leaves, just drags herself to work. Even if she was fired, she still had personal effects in the parlour; a few sweaters, some tools, some supplies. She’d at least gather those before she left.

Her eyes start watering again as she thinks about losing her job. She can’t return to her clan. Not just because it would be humiliating to admit she failed, to show that she couldn’t fend for herself, it would just be an example to the clan that they should withdraw more form the world. They’d always been convinced the shemlen were all trying to destroy them. Merrill had thought better. They’d tell her she’s wrong, and this was proof.

“Hey, Daisy!” Merrill jolts as she hears someone shouting from above. “Merrill!” She whips around, looking up at the figure leaning out of the window of the Hanged Man. She hadn’t even realised she’d walked that far.

“Oh, good morning Varric!” She calls back, forcing a smile on her lips.

“Wait a sec, I got something for you!” Varric disappears from the upper window of the bar, and Merrill waits patiently on the sidewalk, wiping at her eyes once again.

“I forgot to give this to you yesterday.” Varric starts as he comes out the door. He holds out a card to her. “It’s my card. My names has a lot of weight around here. If you’re ever in trouble, you can call the number on the card and I can send help.”

Merrill sniffs, taking the card carefully from him. “Thank you, Varric, but…Why me?”

“’Cause I like you. And we’re friends now.” He grins and claps her on the shoulder. “Hey, if things don’t go well with your job today, stop by tonight and I’ll help you find another one.”

He waves goodbye and Merrill is left red-eyed on the street, clutching the card in her hand.

-

The door to the funeral parlour seems twenty feet tall when Merrill steps in front of it. Her vision blurs and darkens as she even thinks of opening it, hand shaking with quickening breath. She can do this. She can do this. She ca-

“Oh, you’re early today.” A voice rumbles roughly from behind her, thick with sleep. Merrill jumps, whirling around to look at the source.

“Mr. Pavus!” She squeaks.

Her boss looks horrible today. He has dark bags under his eyes, and his normally glowing skin is pale, and sallow. He’s not even wearing a speck of make-up, which she finds odd, and his tie is untied. He’s clutching to a thermos in one hand, fumbling with the key to the building with the other. He fails twice to find the lock, finally holding out the key to Merrill with a resigned sigh.

She follows after him into the dark building, utterly terrified of her boss. He trudges into his office, setting down the thermos and falling into his chair. “Take a seat..” He mutters, turning to bring some papers out of his bag.

Merrill wrings her fingers as she perches herself rigidly on her seat, ducking her head as she prepares for a tongue lashing, and job termination.

“Evidently we have a lot to talk about.” Dorian starts, pouring himself a cup of whatever’s in the thermos. He stares at Merrill with an odd frown.

“Um…yes…about that, Mr. Pavus…” Merrill’s voice is meek as she begins to defend herself. “I um…I wanted to-“

“Sorry for interrupting you, terribly rude, I know, but I’d like to say my piece first, if you don’t mind.” Dorian is giving her an utterly patient, if tired, look. She swallows thickly and nods. “Obviously yesterday was a wreck, and I’d like to begin by apologising for kicking you out so harshly.”

Merrill stills as if ice water was dumped on her head, feelings her joints freeze up as she stares at her lap. Obviously, this was the beginning; he’d be nice and smiles just before shutting her down.

“Maker…” He mutters, seeing her face. “Look, I understand if you want to quit, but I’d really like to try and rectify this.” What? Merrill’s eyes widen. What does he mean? “I…I didn’t realise that customers were treating you so rudely. I admit, I’ve never really thought about elven racism, and for that I…Am sorry. I don’t accept bigots as clients, and I should have realised that you’d be a target.” Dorian Pavus is not one to apologise. If anything, he tends to ignore his problems and drown himself in alcohol, so this…This was astounding for Merrill.

Dorian’s eyes suddenly widen and he looks holy taken aback. “Oh, no, please don’t cry I…I don’t know how to deal with that. Look, I’m sorry, really, truly, won’t let it happen again, _please stop crying_.”

Merrill hadn’t even realised she was crying. She reaches a hand up to wipe at her tears. “Sorry, Mr. Pavus…I just…I thought you were going to fire me.” She says in a quiet, broken voice, avoiding her boss’s gaze. “I know I did something wrong yesterday, and I don’t understand what, but I promise I’ll do better, and I came here to tell you that, but I thought you were going to fire me, but now you’re apologising and you don’t apologize and I’m so confused.”

Dorian looks visibly sick trying to figure how to comfort someone. It’s not really his thing. Hell, emotions aren’t his thing. “Uh…There there?” He tries, patting Merrill’s hand in an awkward attempt at soothing. “I’m not firing you, darling. I promise.” He adds, more sincere this time.

Merrill sniffs, finally looking at her boss with a weak smile. “You really mean it?”

Dorian scoffs. “Of course! You thought I was going to fire you because some racist bint thought you would taint the stone cold body of her son? Sugar, I don’t roll that way.” He hands a tissue to Merrill, giving her a moment to blot her eyes. “I know I’m a shit boss, perfectly aware of it, but I do _try_ not to live up to the malicious reputation of my ancestral blood.”

The elven girl sniffs again, smile widening. “Thank you, Mr. Pavus.” She stands, folding up her tissue.

“Think nothing of it.” Dorian says with a wave of his hand. “I’m just- Ah!” He jumps as soon as he feels Merrill’s small arms wrap around him in a hug. “No, no, definitely not. Nope.”

She blushes furiously, jumping away. “Oh I’m sorry, Mr. Pavus, I wasn’t thinking, I won’t do that again. Ugh, Merrill you’re such an idiot!” She babbles as Dorian brushes himself off.

“Quite…” Dorian is not a touchy feely person. “Go clean yourself up, and start turning on light or something. We have a meeting in an hour.” He says, turning back to his work.

“Yes, sir.” Merrill beams.

-

Merrill does go to the Hanged Man after work, but this time there’s a spring in her step as she skips through the doorway, beaming at Corff, who gives her an arched brow.

“Evening~!” She chirps. Corff gives her a small smile and a nod, and goes to get her a drink.

“Looks like things went well?” A voice says to her left, and Merrill turns to it with wide, shining eyes.

“I still have a job, Varric!” She practically shouts in her excitement.

“That’s great, Daisy!” Varric smiles back at the elven girl, watching her practically shake in her excitement.

“I think…I think things are going to be okay.” Her smile barely dims. Things were okay. She was okay.

-

The Hanged Man was almost never empty, except for around eight in the morning when it was closed and the only people around were Varric and maybe an employee or two that needed a place to crash, or were cleaning up after a particularly shit night.

Merrill has taken to showing up on her way to work to have breakfast with Varric. He’d made it clear she was always welcome to stop by, whether they were open or not, giving her a spare key and everything. It was nice to just sit at the bar with Varric and enjoy hot drinks and pastries form the bakery down the street, just talking about this and that.  
  
Varric had become a steady presence in Merrill’s life, something she fully appreciated, since her only other acquaintances here were at work. He actually seemed to care about her, enough that when she stopped eating on particularly gruelling work weeks he’d wait outside the bar until she passed and pull her in for dinner. He also bought her a basil plant after she told him about the mint Mahariel gave her. She put it on the makeshift box table, the two ceramic pots sitting next to each other in the sunlight, something for her to care for when she couldn’t care for herself.

It was during one of these morning breakfast sessions that she met one of Varric’s friends.

The man sitting at the bar when she entered Friday morning was taller than her, human and looked absolutely exhausted. He was wearing the sort of clothes Merrill had seen shem doctors wear, the few times she’d ever seen any. His hands were wrapped around a mug of steaming coffee as he stared at the wall behind the bar.

“Hello?” Merrill asks softly, approaching the man, who doesn’t respond. “Okay…” She takes her normal seat and pulls out a folder filled with notes and papers she uses for her job, things like cheat sheet references for coffin providers and papers for the bodies they currently had in storage, and a three page set of instructions from Dorian about what to do in the case that he did not show up to work.

She’s going over some of her notes from the night before, simple reminders she knows she’ll forget about, when Varric arrives.

“I know you told me not to, but I found a coat for you, Blondie.” Is how he begins. Merrill almost checks the colour of her hair before she realises he’s talking about the tired man. “Blondie?” Said man is still staring into the distance, so lost that he only responds when Varric claps him on the back.

“Oh, Varric, I was-“

“Tired, I know.” Varric throws an old jacket over the man’s shoulders, taking his seat between him and Merrill. “Morning Daisy, you met Anders?”

“Hm?” The man, Anders, looks at Merrill as if he just realised she was there. Poor guy.

“This is Merrill.”

“Anders.” The man holds out his hand and Merrill shakes it. “Sorry, I’m very…Tired.” He yawns, turning back to his coffee.

“Yes you are. Are you okay?” Merrill asks, because it’s nice to ask people if they’re okay.

“Hm…Yes.” There’s nothing convincing about his tone.

“You don’t look very okay.” Merrill presses.

“He’s not very good at taking care of himself, Daisy.” Varric adds, clapping Anders on the back. “Kind of like you.”

“I know how to take care of myself!” Merrill argues.

“You get lost on the buses.”

“Well…not so much anymore. Those little cards you gave me helped a lot.” Merrill pouts, putting her papers away.

“Cards?” Anders looks up from his coffee to raise and eyebrow.

“Varric gave me this little pieces of paper with bus numbers on them. They say things like supermarket, and apothecary.” Merrill smiles, getting up out of her seat. “I’ll go get us some breakfast. Do you want anything, Anders?”

“A swift death?” The man mutters.

“I don’t think they sell those…” Merrill cocks her head to the side thoughtfully.

“Just get him a muffin, Daisy. On me.” Varric hands Merrill a fold of bills, far too much for just breakfast, but she’s learned better than to argue. She’ll just find a way to filter it back to him somehow.

“Okay!” Merrill goes and gets them all breakfast from the bakery. When she enters the bar, Anders is sitting alone again.

“He said he was going to go make some tea.” The man says as he sees her enter.

“Ah, alright. I didn’t know what kind of muffin to get you, so I got two. They hand a blueberry one, and a cranberry one. I figured if you want both you can hav eone for lunch or a snack or something.” She sets the muffins down in front of Anders before putting Varric’s usual breakfast sandwich and her bagel at the appropriate seats.

“Thanks…” Anders stares at the muffins.

“They’re not going to hurt you, silly.” Merrill giggles, taking her seat again.

“Hm…what’s your occupation?” The man asks, glancing at her.

“Oh, I’m a mortician. I work with dead people.” The elven woman smiles and takes a bite of her bagel.

“How can you say that so happily?” Anders looks shocked and mildly insulted.

Merrill shrugs. “I like my job. It makes me happy.” She kicks her legs as she sits on the stool, rocking a bit in place. “You’re a doctor, right? You look like a doctor.”

“yes, I work at the clinic a few blocks over.” He’s still giving her that weird look. “I _help_ people.”

“So do I!” She grins. “I wasn’t so good at it at first, but Mr. Pavus says I’m getting better at it. All you shemlen have these weird rules about what you can talk about, it’s taking awhile to adjust.”

“How…How can taking apart dead bodies be considered helping anyone?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t help people you just…Dispose of them. It’s just about the antithesis of my job.” Anders does not look happy. Really, he looks rather angry.

“I don’t know about that.” Merrill sets down her food so she can turn fully to Anders. “I’m not an expert on doctors, but Keeper Marethari is a healer. I know she helps people when they’re hurt. I do that too.”

“It’s not helping if they’re already dead.” Anders turns to look at her as well, glaring now.

“I give people a proper burial. I let them look like themselves one last time. I help families see their loved ones again, comfort heartache and grief. I work very hard to help people, Mr. Anders, and I don’t appreciate you insulting my occupation.” Her voice is tight and clipped, lacking the smile she normally speaks with. She’s not very happy with this man, and she’s not afraid to show him that.

“I’m not insulting your job, I’m just telling the truth.”

“No, you’re not. You’re tired and bitter, and you’re taking it out on me. It’s very mean of you.” Merrill stands up, wrapping up her bagel. “Please tell Varric I will be by tonight. I have work to attend to.” And with that she leaves.

She’s only a few strides down the street before she stops, clutching at her bag so tight her hands are ghost white. “Oh that was very mean of you Merrill…I should go apologise.” She murmurs to herself, feeling horrible about being cross. But he hadn’t been very nice about her job…She’d worked too hard to get to where she was now to let someone tell her she wasn’t helping anyone.

“No. No. I was right. I’m going…I’m going to work.” She nods to herself, forcing her feet to continue walking. “I’m going to work.”

-

“You look rather down today.” Is the first thing out of her boss’s off as she enters his office.

“Yes well…Someone was rather rude to me this morning.” Merrill tries not to sound cross with Dorian, but she’s still rather mad about Anders.

“Want to um…Talk about it?” Her boss still isn’t very good with feelings, but he’d been trying to be more sympathetic recently. It didn’t really suit him, but it was nice to see him trying.

“I just…” Merrill takes a seat in front of Dorian, shoulders slumped. “What we do helps people, right Dor- Mr. Pavus.”

“We’re not in front of clients, there’s really no reason to be formal.” Dorian is, once again, sorting out papers. This time it looks like bills, which she knows he has a lot of. “But yes, we do help people. It’s one of the reasons I went into this profession.” He looks up at her. “Why, did someone tell you otherwise?”

“I uh…I met a doctor this morning who was very…Erm…Rude about me saying we both helped people.” She doesn’t want to insult Anders, but he was rude to her.

“Well, what does a doctor know about funeral services? Let him stick with the living, we can handle our own expertise.” He cracks a half smile at Merrill, and she smiles back fully.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t let this get to me. I’ll um…I’ll just finish up my breakfast and then I’ll run embalming prep.”

Dorian just nods and turns back to his bills. Heart to heart time is over. She feels better, though. Talking to Dorian felt like talking to death, most of the time. He wasn’t just hungover more than not, his outlook on life was downright pessimistic. Him actually saying something comforting for once felt great. Maybe there was hope for her boss yet.

-

Merrill is hesitant to enter the Hanged Man that night. She’s not afraid of Anders, per say, but the idea of arguing again doesn’t sit right with her. Merrill’s not a conflict gal on any level, and she didn’t need a tussle after a full day of work.

She steps inside anyways, though, and takes her place at the bar, taking in the typical Hanged Man atmosphere; tables of drunkards talking louder than natural, vomit on the floor, two people about to tear the hair out of each other.

“Why do you keep coming back here?”

“I don’t know…I like it.” Merrill shrugs, turning to smile at Varric. “Sorry I left early this morning.”

“I understand.” Varric hands her a drink, one she’s already had before. She had gotten a feeling Corff would run out of sugary drinks to feed her eventually. “Blondie’s sort of an acquired taste. He likes to think he’s right all the time. We’re working on it.”

Merrill nods, taking slow sips of her drink. “He was very cross with me. Was he sick today, or does his face always look like that?”

She’s being sincere, but Varric starts laughing, and she starts to think she said that wrong. “No, no, his face is built that way. Guy’s been hurt a few too many times, forgot how to be happy.”

“Well that’s just sad…Does he get lonely?” Now she feels more bad for snapping at him.

Varric shrugs. “I suppose. I’ve never seen him talk to anyone.”

“Hmm…” The elven woman hums thoughtfully, tapping her fingers on the bar. “Where’s he work?”

“Some clinic. Why?”

“I want to visit him.”

“I’ll write you up a bus card.” Varric pulls out a stack of note cards from his pocket and starts jotting down a bus route. “He uh…He really likes cats, I think.”

“Thank you, Varric.” Merrill smiles and pecks her friend on the cheek. “I’m going to head out early tonight. Got some shopping to do before work tomorrow.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out some Tupperware, handing it to Varric. “Give this to Corff for me, yes? Oh, and there’s some cookies in there for Norah! Thank you, goodnight!” Then she’s running out the door, eager to get home.


	2. Chamomile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill tries to make a friend....She might need to try a different approach

Merrill wakes up to the sound of her alarm, set much too early for her taste. She groans and turns on her cot. The sun hasn’t even risen yet. But then she remembers why she set her alarm early, and pulls herself off the floor, taking a moment to yawn and steady herself.

She likes the dress she’s wearing today. It’s blue with daisies on it, and it floofs out when she twirls. She wears it with a subdued, darker blazer, though, because she can’t be too bright for her job. Typically she didn’t even really prefer skirts on work days, gets in the way, but she needed that extra sun today.

The streets are still dark as Merrill makes her way to the supermarket. She has to take a bus to get there, but it’s early enough that it’s not very crowded, which makes it easier, and everyone is real tired, so they mostly ignore her.

The sun has barely started to rise by the time she takes the next two buses she needs to go to the clinic. She follows her bus card carefully, not wanted to get lost. Again. She’s very good at getting lost.

The clinic itself hasn’t opened to the public yet, which she finds out when she approaches the door and finds it lost. She’s going to be late for work, though, if she doesn’t get this done soon, and she’s fine with that, but she knows if she is late once she’ll be more inclined to do it again. So, she knocks on the glass door of the clinic and cups her hands around her eyes to try and see inside better. She tries again a few minutes later, and then again, and finally someone comes to the door.

She looks tired, Merrill notices, and young. Younger than her, at least. Her hair is black and long and she’s wearing doctor’s clothes, and she opens the door with a weary look. “We’re not open, yet. Are you dying?” She asks, and though her words are accusatory, her voice is gentle.

“Well, um…No…I don’t think I’m dying?” Merrill responds, looking down at herself as if magical wounds will have appeared in the last few seconds.

“Well, then you can wait for us to open.” The lady goes to close the door but Merrill waves her arms and jumps forward.

“Wait no! I um…I’m here for um…Personal reasons?” The woman stops trying to close the door, and raises an eyebrow. “I was told a man named Anders works here?”

“You want to see the doctor? For…Personal reasons?” The lady is sceptical for reasons unbeknownst to Merrill.

“Yes.” The elf nods, rocking back on her heels. “See, Varric introduced him to me yesterday, and he-“

The lady’s eyes widen. “Wait, Varric?” Her incredulous look quickly turns to one of exasperation. “Why am I not surprised? Fine, you can come in.” She sighs and opens the door all the way, allowing Merrill inside the building.

“Thank you~! By the way, my name is Merrill.” The small elf practically beams as she bounces inside.

“I’m Bethany.” The lady says with a soft smile. “I’ll go get Anders for you, wait here.” She leaves Merrill in the lobby of the clinic and walks off.

With nothing to do but wait, Merrill stands in place and swishes her hips so her skirt swishes against her legs. She manages to amuse herself with this for a good five minutes before she hears the sounds of shoes on tile, and suddenly Anders is stepping into the room.

“Bethany said something about Va- Oh.” He looks severely annoyed when he sets his eyes on Merrill. “What do you want um…Daisy, is it?”

“Merrill.” She corrects. “You know…The girl you insulted yesterday?”

“You insulted someone, Anders?” Bethany frowns as she steps up behind him.

“Not really.” Anders mutters. The bags under his eyes are more severe now, and his face is very pale. He looks gaunt, and Merrill wonders how someone manages to look so dead but also so angry?

“No, you really did, and it was rather mean.” She points out, willing herself not to just agree with him. “I forgive you, though, and I brought you this.” She holds out the gift bag she’s been holding in her hands to Anders, smiling encouragingly at him, like he’s a stray dog.

Bethany rolls her eyes when Anders just stares at the small elf girl, astonished. “Seriously?” She jabs Anders in the side and he sighs and takes the bag, digging his hand inside to pull out the orange cat plush Merrill had picked up at the supermarket.

“Varric told me you like cats.” She says. Anders looks confused. He’s staring at the cat with the oddest look in his eyes. “There should be sometea in there, too. And some sweets.” Anders just keeps staring at the cat, eyes wide. Merrill sighs. “Look, I understand that you’re tired and cross all the time, and you said some very mean things to me. But I’m not going to hold it against you. I don’t want you to think that you’re right, because what you said hurt me, but I know you were unhappy, and I know you were taking out your frustrations on me.”

Bethany is looking between Anders and Merrill. She looks confused beyond all else. Anders doesn’t respond, so Merrill sighs again. “I have to get to work. You take care, yes?” She waits a moment for a response, but when she doesn’t get one she turns away and walks out the door.

She’s not far down the street when she hears running footsteps behind her, and she thinks maybe it’s Anders, but when she turns around it’s Bethany, striding to catch up with her.

“Wait!” She calls, and Merrill stops. “Can...I don’t want to make you late for work, but…” She goes quiet, stepping up in front of the small elven girl. “What did Anders say to you?” Bethany asks.

Merrill bites her lip thoughtfully, frowning. “He said something rather rude about my job.” The dark haired lady frowns as well.

“I’m sorry about him…I don’t think he knows how to trust people anymore.” She apologises.

“I understand.” Merrill shrugs, eyes downcast. “I’m not judging him, I just…My job can be very demanding, and Anders made it seem like…Well, like it was worthless. Like everything I’ve been working up to for years now means nothing. And, well…If I’m not helping people, if my job means nothing, then all I’ve done is just a waste of time.” She doesn’t start crying this time, but it’s mostly because she just feels numb. She hugs herself, fingers digging into her upper arms.

“What do you do?” Bethany asks.

“I’m a mortician. I…I prepare dead bodies for burial.”

Bethany doesn’t seem to understand. She’s okay with no one understanding, she’s used to it. But the dark haired doctor doesn’t say mean things like Anders. She actually reaches out a hand and places it on Merrill’s shoulder.

“Don’t listen to what he said.” She says in her soft, lilting voice. “I don’t exactly understand your feelings, but…Your reasons for doing something are your own, and your efforts are never for nothing.”

“What if they are?” Merrill finds herself whispering.

Bethany smiles, but her eyes are sad. “Then that’s for you to figure out, not some moody man who knows nothing about your truth.”

Merrill smiles back. “Thank you.”

Bethany drops her hand, but does not leave. “If Anders was so mean to you, why did you bring him that gift?” She asks, cocking her head to the side.

“Varric told me he was sad all the time, and very lonely. I figured…Well, even if he was mean and cross all the time, everyone deserves a friend, or at least…Company.” She shrugs. “I’m starting to think it was a bad idea, though. Means nothing comin’ from me.”

“You have a kind soul, Merrill.” Bethany smiles, and the smile lights up her eyes. “I’ve got to get back to work, but if you ever need help…The clinic is always open for you.” And she pats Merrill on the arm and leaves.

Merrill shivers for a moment on the sidewalk, watching the shrinking figure of Bethany. She feels better, if only a little.

-

Merrill doesn’t go to the Hanged Man that night. She didn’t feel like facing Varric after her failed attempt at befriending Anders. She didn’t want to tell him what happened.

In fact, she didn’t go see Varric the next morning, or the morning after that. She avoided the Hanged Man like the plague for almost a week, isolating herself into her work. If Dorian takes notice, he doesn’t say anything. He’d started drinking more steadily recently, and though their relationship was getting better, she wasn’t at a point where she could confront him about it.

She actually ended up avoiding others entirely for about a week, bar the customers she dealt with during work. She was starting to think her decision to move here wasn’t the best one.

The knock on her apartment door Thursday night surprises her. Only her landlord ever did that, and she’d paid her rent this month. Her landlord is not the human standing on the other side of her apartment door, she sees, but another human.

“Hello Anders.” Merrill summons a smile from the dark depths inside her, though it’s weak and sad compared to the previous ones Anders had seen her give.

“Merrill.” He’s holding a box in his hands. For a moment, Merrill thinks he might be giving her the gift she had given him back, but he just holds out the box, no explanation.

“What is this?” The elf hesitantly takes the box, examining it as if it might bite her. It’s cardboard, being held together with a mass of tape and paperclips. There are holes poked into the top haphazardly, some of them not going through all the way.

“A uh…A sort of apology.” Anders runs a hand through his hair awkwardly. Merrill notices that he seems in a much better state today. His hair has been recently washed, and his skin is less sallow. The bags under his aren’t quite as prominent, and he’s not shaking or anything.

“How did you get my address?”

“…Varric.”

Merrill was unaware that Varric knew where she lived, so this isn’t really a helpful answer, but she’s not about to ask any more questions, she has a box. “Well, okay.”

She tears the  tape off the top of the box and practically has to rip it open to reveal what’s inside. It’s a potted plant, just barely starting to sprout. She carefully takes the gift out of the box holding it in her hands, examining it.

“It’s a chamomile plant…Uh, Varris told me about the one he gave you, and about the one from your friend? It’s good for making tea, mostly to um invoke drowsiness, or clear sinuses. It’s also useful if added to a bath or an ointment, for your uh skin.” He rubs the back of his neck bashfully, face flushing as he adverts his eyes. “I just…I want to say sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to insult you so much, I was just…Um…” He waves his hand, searching for the appropriate word.

“Cranky?” Merrill helpfully supplies. “Cross? Rude? Sick? Did you have a problem with your words? We had a girl in my clan who had that. She’d say means things all the time, but I think she got better.”

“No, I was going for uh...Busy?” Anders gives Merrill an odd look before shaking his head. “Whatever. I didn’t mean to take out my frustrations on you. It was…The gift you gave me was very thoughtful. I don’t know how you knew my cat had run away, but it was really nice.”

Merrill had no idea Anders lost his cat, didn’t even know he had a cat, but she just nodded along and smiled like she was talking to a kid.

“Anyways, I just wanted to give you this and apologise, and I did that, so…”

“Thank you Anders.” Merrill beams. “This was very nice of you. Would you like to come in for some tea?”

It’s less of a show of gratitude and more her way of saying she accepted his apology, and is willing to be his friend. And when he nods and follows her into her apartment, he understands that this really means he’ll try harder not be an ass, and now has a new friend.

As Merrill places the new plant next to the other two, she starts to feel like she knows what she’s doing again.

The boxes are sagging a bit, though. She might want to get a table…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer, I know fuck all about Bethany. I've always played as a mage, so like my characterization might not be spot on. Ignore it. 
> 
> I don't know if this is obvious, but not the biggest Anders fan. I don't hate him or nothin', but it's kind of hard for me to not write him as a huge asshole.

**Author's Note:**

> The point of this story is less about romance, and more about character development, which explains why Merrill and Isabela haven't even met yet. Question is, what city are we in and why is Kirkwall not just melded into it? It's very convenient to just have one city. I'm using locations loosely, I really don't care.


End file.
